


Connor's Visit

by wanderingbeauty



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, It's Kind of a Funny Story - Ned Vizzini
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 15:38:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13907097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingbeauty/pseuds/wanderingbeauty
Summary: I woke up with the intense need to get this written down. Eventually it'll make its way into Cacathesia, which is a bigger piece I'm working on. It takes place in an AU where Craig and Connor meet at the psych hospital. Check it out on my page if you want!TW: mention of suicide.





	Connor's Visit

I wake up in a cold sweat and shoot into a sitting position, looking around and trying to bring things into focus. I rub my eyes and after a few seconds it hits me -- I'm in the Murphy's guest room, Noelle is sleeping beside me, and Connor's funeral is tomorrow. 

I check the time on my phone: 1:27am.

Scratch that -- Connor's funeral is today. 

I'm not gonna be able to get back to sleep, so I slip out of bed and go out onto the patio. I sink into one of the chairs and sigh.

"Damn," Connor is like. "I didn't know you were gonna be _this_ pissed." I look up and he's perched on the arm of the chair across from me; he's grainy and slightly sepia-toned, like I'm watching him through a TV that gets poor reception. "Would it have been better if I didn't leave a note?"

I shake my head. "I'm not pissed anymore." 

This seems to surprise him. "What changed your mind?"

"I made peace with the fact that you were looking for an excuse -- you always were. And since none of us were around to talk you down this time, you took the selfish way out." I shrug. "It is what it is. Being pissed isn't gonna bring you back." 

He smiles in amusement, looks at his hands. "You're extremely analytical, you know that?" Pause. "You're also extremely accurate."

"Yeah, well, don't go playing the Wise Old Sage just because you're dead." He's wearing his black hoodie, black skinny jeans, and green boots; they all look greyish-brown and washed out. His nail polish is chipped and it looks like he's bitten his nails down to the quick. "Why are you here?"

"I can't visit my best friend?" He still hasn't stopped looking at his hands. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

I get up and walk over to him, and a strand of hair falls in his face as he looks up at me. When I tuck it behind his ears, I let my hand rest on his cheek for a minute.

"You're not gonna kiss me, are you?" He's like.

I push out a laugh. "No, I just wanted to see if my hand would go through you." It doesn't, and his skin isn't cold either -- he's super warm, and all of a sudden he looks... fine. "Are you--"

He shakes his head, stands. "No. I'm still dead, Craig." He takes my hand and presses it to his chest.

I wait to feel the beat of his heart or the steady rise and fall of his chest. I feel nothing. After a minute, my hand flops back to my side. _So this is it, then._ "Have you gotten into heaven yet?"

He scoffs. "Nah, there's a _hell_ of a waiting list." I ignore the grin he gives me and he rolls his eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing -- I don't know if heaven exists, or if I'll get to meet God, or if I'm destined for hell like I always knew I was. I guess I'm just kinda..." He shrugs. "In limbo, for the time being."

"How long are you gonna be here?"

He glances at his wrist even though he's not wearing a watch. "I actually have to leave." And I can see it -- he's getting more and more out of focus before my eyes.

"What? No! You just got here!"

"I'll miss you, man." His voice is quieting; it vaguely reminds me of radio static.

"What about your parents? What about Zoe?"

"I've gone to them so many times -- they can't see me yet. They're not ready."

"What about Noelle? She'll want to talk to you."

He shakes his head. "She'll be fine. It was you I was worried about."

I take his face in both of my hands, hoping to bring him back to the world of real-life color. When that doesn't work, I grab hold of his arms. "Connor..."

He gives me a weird smile, getting fuzzier and fuzzier until he just phases out completely. I'm left clenching my fists, holding onto nothing as the cold concrete stings my feet. Alone.


End file.
